Vincent Arrives

¤Vincent¤ : It was the sound of the brakes that woke him from his slumber, and the shaggy headed beast arose from his bed tucked amidst the crates in a box car. It was a bit of a squeeze getting out of the space and up to the roof hatch. He knew the door was locked, because he had heard the lock being put in place, but the roof hatch had not been secured, because nothing in that car would fit through it. The outside catch held for a few moments as he applied increasing pressure from beneath, his teeth gritting -c-
¤Vincent¤ : under the strain in the cramped space. But that latch had not been meant to hold against such a force, and it was the screws on the hatch that gave way, pulling free of the wood with a brief jerk. He waited a few moments, shifting his position until he could lift the hatch just far enough to peer out the crack as the train rolled into the station. He growled quietly...so many people, this could go tits up in a hurry...he had hoped for a freight yard, rather than a passenger terminal. He closed his -c-
¤Vincent¤ : eyes and considered his options, Move quick and quiet, try not to attract attention...Bolt like a frightened hare, or stay here mulling things over until the local noseys showed up to open the car and get nicked...Option one could always be changed to option two at any time...so one it was. He eased the hatch open until it lay back on the roof of the car, then hauled himself out over the coaming, staying low to the roof of the car as he turned to get his bearings...exits...through the crowd, or out -c-
¤Vincent¤ : either end of the terminal...the farther distance, but less obstructions. Given the manner in which those on the platform were dressed, he would stand out like a turd on silk. Options...he moved into a squat atop the roof of the car, and carefully closed the hatch, there was no fixing the latch without tools and supplies but he could put the plate back, though the screws would succumb to the lightest pull. He turned his attention to the one belonging that was not fit to be sent to the rag pickers...-c-
¤Vincent¤ : It had been a gift from her...something to protect him from the eyes of those who feared difference. The cloak was quite voluminous, and fitted his large frame with enough extra to allow freedom of movement. But what spark of whimsy had brought her to choose such a strong crimson, with a simple border of gold. He sighed as he draped the cloth about his shoulders and fastened the clasp...He was not going to run...She would not like it if he ran...this was a new start...a new city, where none knew his -c-
¤Vincent¤ : face...where he could be free of cage or fetters. He stood, the cloak flowing around him as he drew himself up to his full height, to stand tall and proud...for just a moment as the train slowed to a halt. He walked forward, to the front of the car, and dropped into the space between, one hand catching the light bracket on the back of the passenger car, which swung him onto the small railed platform on the back of that car. He drew the hood of the cloak up and stepped down the steps onto the -c-
¤Vincent¤ : platform with an unhurried grace. Move like you belong, like you have purpose...The deep hood narrowed his field of vision, but it cast his features into shadow, and he had other senses to pay heed to his wider surroundings. The smells and noise made him wince...they would take getting used to. -d-

Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : Adjustment it was the key to life, and despite the broken state of the heart, the mind and body were certainly able to adjust to this life in a city fueled by steam. The Factory had taken him on as a laborer loading and unloading cargo onto locomotives. It was not the work that he'd spend his life doing, nor did it really assist in the Artisan's creativity and craft. but it provided a beautiful distraction from the memories and pains he now learned to live through as a constant. The Liquor helped most -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : times but there were days where Tirian succumbed to a sobering drunkenness that had him standing out on the sky platforms staring blankly at the ground. How easy it would be to fall from one, and allow existence to end. His saving grace was the fact that he was uncertain if that would actually kill him. The Fire, should have been more then enough to kill him, the burns and the weight of the wood and stone that had fallen upon him should have factored into demise and yet here he stood, he'd thought -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : at one point to experiment with this, but as a man not prone to self mutilation it seemed far fetched that he would spend time destroying his body in order to see if he'd heal or not. He did notice benefits however, now that he was aware of what he was, The Lark realized he could work longer and harder than others. Which was perhaps why he spent much of the day within the monotonous labor he did. Rarely leaving until he was forced to go by a superior or another co worker. Many had taken interest in him, -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : many had asked questions about his past, and Tirian had garnered the best response to this. Distance, emotionally he was growing more and more distant to the world. He hardly bothered with social interactions, rarely involved himself in things not his own business, of course their was one exception to this, but it was more or less a convenient placement for him and the other involved. He hadn't gotten her name and vise versa. not that such exchanges were needed, as it was he was in his own world and she -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : didn't seem to care much to bother him about it. It worked well, she paid for a drink or two provided a meal and Tirian was uncertain what he provided. But chose not to argue as she seemed she wouldn't take it. Todd's as always was filled with the usual movement and conversations. People chatting about their day, unwinding from the stress of their positions. Some merely drinking to drink as Tirian now did. His table, off to the corner but not far enough away that it attracted attention found. his Liquor -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : ordered and his night paid for by coin. He hadn't found a constant dwelling, 'though many had offered', however in all honesty. The Lark was not considering staying in this realm beyond a few more weeks. When the next northbound ship. Which actually was more or less what he'd been telling himself. Every day coin was garnered he considered how much he had and intended to go buy passage, but always he ended up here. With a glass in hand, trying to drown the light that was his precious deryn in amber liquor.
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : -end-



ǀσℓαηαƲαня : -The shadow walker stalked along the edge of the buildings in what had become her daily routine. Riley was scarcely found these days likely caught up in trying to settle into his new role and dealing with the politics of it all. She did not envy him that for she’d played that game on more than one occasion. Not in Gaerdon to be certain, but <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : elsewhere in times past. She had taken to observing the keepers from a distance not daring another encounter with them. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them rather the opposite. She trusted them to be curious and that that curiosity would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer. Everyone had secrets, but the sharing or discerning<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : of her own was to unveil an entire civilizations and that simply wouldn’t do and she was disinclined to murder, though Quintus was not so averse. She was considered among her peers a sentimentalist and overly affectionate to the outside world by their standards. It wasn’t that they were incapable of emotion, they simply exerted much <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : more control over them. Fear that paralyze most could be locked away to process later, where jealousy at times lurched it was replaced by drive and appreciation. Most people were incapable of that type of influence over their own feelings, but not them…they’d been taught to bring such things under control since the moment they were <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : born, because if the worst happened it could be their greatest weapon. Her gaze turned down a particular road as she caught sight of a familiar form scuttling along the streets. A wretched soul filled with a misery that would have sent lesser men to their deaths long ago, the shadow of it lurked in his eye and what had thus far prevented<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : him from attempting it she did not know. Yet if he ever decided to step over that line there was nothing anyone could do for him. Why had she decided to take the man on as a project? Someone to be tucked beneath her wing however lightly it was likely would be an inquiry never given answer. She had her reasons and would be <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : considered by most to be good enough. She moved along until she reached an empty alleyway and parkoured her way down to the ground, rising like a tendril of smoke from the crouch it left her in. She strode along this street and that until she wound up at Todd’s some long minutes after the lark. It was an unspoken ritual that had<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : begun to take shape. Every night he'd drink himself to oblivion and she was would quietly keep away the curious of the room and ensure his unconscious body was put into a bed somewhere. sometimes a spare room here, sometimes elsewhere. She approached the table slowly her fingers slipping into the confines of her grey and purple dust coat<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : allowing her to withdraw a few items which she dropped on the table before him. A whittling knife and small block of wood, then she held two fingers up to the barmaid as was customary. Food would follow soon.-
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : "There is a street kid I owe a toy to, has a thing for foxes...you looked like the sort that could make something like that."-was all she said and then settled into her usual seat, tilting the chair back as her gaze began to look around the room observing the people that were gathered. Usual faces and new faces, her mind already wandering to <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : thoughts on what the keepers would do now that they had a vacancy in their leadership.-end-

Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : This was a man whose thoughts did not go beyond the mundane, he did not spend ample time thinking beyond on the political this and that of the world that surrounded him, he hardly payed focus to the names of those important save for that of the lead of these supposed house of justice or Knights of Gaerdon, If only to better avoid him. No Tirian learned the cost of being 'known' suffered it every day as phantom aches in his body, tormented memories that left him gasping for breath in the morning from -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : nightmares, and dreams that seemed insistent on reminding him of what he'd lost. " we'll always have our dreams" he recalled telling her that, and it seemed to be true. Yet he could not take comfort in those dreams, would she be somewhere alive and well, would she be simply in the Fae Realm. He could have accepted this, but she was not. When Iolana arrived at what was apparently now their table, he simply raised his hand upward in a half wave to her presence. acknowledging it, which was more then he did -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : for a great many. Even the barmaids who served him rarely got anything more then coin. Which likely pleased them as he had become a more simple guest to cater too. give him drinks and leave him alone. a simple recipe but he gave more gold usually then what was required, and this overjoyed them. The hunk of wood, and knife looked upon with abject curiosity before she made light of a request. One which given her usual support of him in the way of nourishment and housing he was inclined to pay. Absently his-c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : hnd would come forward to collect the hunk of wood, turning it over four times before spinning it, the knife gathered after words and with a delicate touch he made small nicks. detailing measurements in his mind. " What would give you that idea? " he mused curiously, though not looking at the woman. Rather visualising the project. When he thought of foxes he thought of nobility and mischief, Like a young princess in her prime playing pranks on the guards, Thus he defined the features in his mind, how it-c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : stood, moved and walked and while it was a hunk of wood. He could already see the furr taking shape with the grain. Eventually the wood was drawn away, forcing him to leave his drink untouched while delicate strikes of a knife began to shave a once square bit of wood to something more manageable. -end-

¤Vincent¤ : Out in the street, he moved out of the flow of foot traffic, taking stock of his situation in more detail, now that the immediate pressure was off. He had a few crowns, another gift from Her as was the purse they resided in. He lifted the rich maroon brocade to his nose...it still bore her scent, a scent that steadied him amid the flood that assaulted his senses. He focused on that smell, drawing calm and composure from it, his golden eyes closed for a long moment. Those eyes opened as he felt -c-
¤Vincent¤ : a body brush against his and the light pressure of a hand as it sought the divide of the cloak. He moved in response, with a gliding grace, his hand dropping to brush away the questing fingers as from his chest rumbled a growl of warning. The sudden intake of breath brought a smile to touch his lips...it was not a friendly expression at all. He caught sight of the cut purse as the adolescent ducked into the crowd, looking for an easier mark. He snorted as he moved into the crowd himself, extracting -c-
¤Vincent¤ : a bit of parchment from the purse...It took but a moment to read the words, and then his eyes were searching for landmarks in the urban jungle. He located the first two easily enough, the third he passed twice before he singled it out...then a right line through the fourth... Now he had his direction, and the name of a place to begin...for the note said...that the tavern could open the way to a new path...follow your heart, make me proud...M He moved through the street with a purpose, his stature -c-
¤Vincent¤ : and build added to that focused bearing tended to ease his passage somewhat, for which he was thankful. But the best of intentions can go awry, with one impulsive act...for all of his bestial appearance and the ill treatment he had received...he still had a good heart. He heard the noisy thing coming, its whistle screaming as the driver fought with the tiller. He had never seen one of the infernal contraptions before...neither it seemed had the child, who pointed and laughed, only too late recognizing-c-
¤Vincent¤ : the danger. He did not think, he acted, with swift purpose as he bodily parted the crowd moving with great bounding strides, the cloak billowing behind him. His left arm went round the child, sweeping her up without slowing, his body turning as the automobile came on its brakes squealing as they fought against the momentum of the machine. He curled himself around the child as the auto struck him, the metal of the front mudguard crumpling back into the front wheel whose wooden spokes shattered as the -c-
¤Vincent¤ : impact knocked him clear to land in the street, stunned. -d-

ǀσℓαηαƲαня : -Wounds like his would never heal, if one was lucky enough they learned to live with them, the ones that were very lucky learned to move beyond it and find some semblance of happiness, but the hole could never be filled. This she knew as certainly as the sun would rise and set on the morrow. This man seemed to her like a survivor, but one needed a<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : reason to wake in the morning. That he had regular work would suffice for a time, but eventually the monotony and lack of true motivation to do such would lose its urgency and stop being a reason. She had spent the better part of the past week working on what might give this man such motivation and through her observations of him she had <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : settled on his hands. Art was the reflection of the soul and however darkened it was by his recent experiences, she believed it capable of more. Call it a hunch or a wing and a prayer, but the result was the same…this gambit to see what he’d do with the simple things she’d given him. His words drew her emerald orbs flecked in gold back towards him<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : and long silent consideration followed.- “Your hands.”-She said letting her gaze dip slowly towards the way they worked the wood. Delicate strides that flexed and relaxed in pressure to begin affecting a craft. Watching drew a slight tug at the edge of her lips for there were few things more in life that she enjoyed then watching a master at their<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : craft. Whether that was in something so small as shaping wood or the dance of swords, it was all art in motion.-“they are worn, but not as a hard laborer’s hands might be. They worn in the way someone that deals with fine yet repetitive motions might be and there are only so many things that would fall into such a category. It seemed a fair and<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : educated guess.”-Iolana witnessed many things in people that were often unnoticed by the masses, but that was the nature of a spy such as her. See the unseeable and make educated inferences that no one else might be capable of. Choices and insights that had saved a number of lives over the course of her work and sunk others. Sometimes people <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : didn’t like what she could see and so there was always a care in letting people understand how much she perceived. She had resolved some nights ago that she would not deceive nor lie to this man, not in his present state. That didn’t mean she’d tell him things he had no business knowing, but her response would be commensurate with saying so. Her <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : attention shifted to the maid as a pot of tea and food was set out before them. A small caraff on the tray with the tea. She poured a small measure of the plum liquid into the stone cup and then poured the tea on top of it.- "warm plum saki with tea, would you like to try it?"

Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : his hands was it? It appeared he would have to start wearing gloves, or burn them to a point where they scarred like his shoulder now was. But that seemed in rights counter productive, and gloves would only hinder his work at the docks, thus he was caught " Jeweler " he said finally making a stroke and tender cut into the woot to begin pulling out the shape of the fox. " Or at least I was " He'd given up on that profession, given up on any passion he'd had in life. No longer did he train with a blade, or-c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : spend time in study, no longer would he craft anything beautiful for people to adore. The Lark was defeated, and his world was dark. There was little he wanted to do to fix that for it required him to spend his time free from the shackles of liquor. Which bore the risk of remembering, and remembering broke him all over. There were only so many times he was willing to break down and sob. So many times he was willing to lose his thoughts when it came to her. He couldn't stand to spend his life locked away-c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : and yet for some reason he couldn't move on. " once upon a time i traveled the world providing cut gems, rings, and pendants to those of noble or ignoble birth. " He'd place the knife against the table to gather his glass in hand and lift it, downing the liquor within, sliding the glass forward for the woman to fill with this warm saki tea. Though his focus shifted back to the project at hand which he was currently intending to finish before the nights end, or rather before the liquor took away his -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : ability to focus upon it. It was rather amazing in some rights to watch, aided by the unnatural lineage, and of course by a life time dedication to works of such a nature. He was able to deftly work the wood in one hand while cutting with the other. Every movement bringing out more and more of what he'd intended to make. It was shape he worked first. developing the head, then the legs, the tail and backside, He had the fox on three legs, with one raised upward, to compensate for balance some of the wood-c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : was left so it would stand neatly, Auric eyes shifted over the object in hand. Then he began details, the face would start, and he did carve everything into it from the eyes, to the nose, the ears and jaw which was open enough that he could finely cut in some teeth to be seen.. -end-

ǀσℓαηαƲαня : -She could see the wheels in his head turning, the look on his face that indicated contemplation, but of what she had no earthly idea for that would have required her to know him better, which she did not. Then he offered up freely some semblance of personal information. Jeweler, so he was a crafter and though she’d perhaps misgauged the medium <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : the results were often the same. It was good enough for government work as they say and such a thought filled her with general amusement. Her opinions of government varied depending on who they were and the choices they were making. Not all were bad, but many were…displaced, corrupted.- “In my experience, limited though it might <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : be…one does not simply cease to be something they were. They choose to forget.”- she poured the plum saki into his glasses setting it to the side and then lifted the tea pot up to pour the warm liquid in with it. She had had him drinking osaquai for the psat four days, which had a lower content of alcohol then what he’d previously been indulging <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : in with less severe consequence. The plum saki tea a step back from that, yet would still grant him what he sought, oblivion. One did not simply stop being a drunkard especially when they had no desire to be sober. Do things in steps…do things in measured beats and maybe just maybe there would be the glimmer of hope.-:The skills remain, even<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : if the desire does not. A sometimes unfortunate thing…sometimes not.”-she nudged the cup back towards him, her fingers shifting to pick up her own cup and sipping at the contents.- “Ruscion”- she said mouthing the word slowly tasting it on her lips as if to sample its flavor and feel. I think that is what I shall call you for now if it suites<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : you?"-It was a subtle way of letting him know she had no intention to pry where he didn't want her, but that she apparently felt it was time that names of some measure were in order. Ruscion was elvish tongue, fox, for why not? It would do as well as any other.-"You can call me iolana if you like."-she took another sip of the tea, her form rocking<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : back in the chair.- end-

¤Vincent¤ : He came round to the smell of people, gathered close, hands touching him, but it was the sound of a crying child that he focused on. His eyes opened to study the faces, reading shock and concern, one woman was pushing past the crowd...her scent told the tale...the mother, too old to be a sibling. He relinquished the child to the woman and made shift to get to his feet, where he was a bit unsteady. He snarled involuntarily as a hand brushed against a splinter that protruded from his side. He tried to -c-
¤Vincent¤ : grip the splinter, but it was in an awkward position and a hand gently pushed his aside, before the offending bit of spoke was pulled free quickly. It was neither large or in deeply, but its removal brought a measure of relief, as each movement caused it to pull. He shook his head to clear the last of the cobwebs and pushed through the crowd toward what had been his goal...he could see the sign in the distance. The cloak had weathered the incident rather well, only having a hole pierced through it -c-
¤Vincent¤ : and a measure of dirt rubbed into the soft fabric. He gritted his teeth against the bruising that was making itself known as the adrenaline wore off. He soon reached the door of Todd's and pushed that portal open, his eyes blinking as he adjusted to the much dimmer interior. He moved aside from the doorway. seeking a place where he might sit, his left hand clutching tight the brocade purse, as he settled himself heavily into a chair with a deep resonant growl that passed through gritted teeth. -d-

Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : " There are many things in this we cannot choose, " he shifted his focus upward to her " I've had enough choices made for me in my life, " he shifted his focus back to the fox " So I've chosen this time. " he shrugged his shoulders and absently blew a breath across the expanse of the foxes features. wavy fur patterns taking form over the length of the wood. now he took a moment to stretch his fingers, and gather up the warm tea in hand. As he was apt to do in the past, though with less potent tea. " I -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : have name " he said absently turning the fox over to absently brush away more remnant wood shavings from the foxes torso. With a agile motion of the knife he twisted it into a single spot upon the leg. It'd look like nothing fancy, but a few strokes later a small bird upon the foot, to indicate this was his craft. Something he did instinctively now as he'd had some pass on his work as their own. Which had earned that particular gent a rather scornful look and of course Tirian ruined him within three days-c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : by creating the exact same piece three times in front of the buyer. When the other was unable to produce it was obvious who the craftsmen was. Drawing his gaze back towards the woman outstretching the carving towards her " I was called Lark, and until such a time as I am dead I shall remain Lark " The carving would be placed before the woman if she didn't gather it, and his focus would shift back towards the sake in cup. It was bitter, but then so were most liquors. He was quick to drain the cup and even -c
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : quicker to gather the second cup of sweet plum wine which he would not drink as swiftly. " I've met a few elves in my time,...they called me Ieuthil Tura " he'd absently pocket the carving knife at this point. -end-

ǀσℓαηαƲαня : Had he been friend to her she might have pushed him harder. Challenged things he was stating, yet because she could not predict the response or outcome she for the time refrained. Some things couldn’t be rushed and this most certainly fell into that category. Her brow arched slowly as he indicated that he did in fact have a name and there was a <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : look of genuine surprise when he dispensed with it.- “Lark”-she said in a similar fashion and nodded approvingly, though she imagined that it had been a long time since he sung a morning song worthy of the name, but what the voice might fail in the hands did not. Her fingers reaching out to accept the craft. The knife was his to retain and though <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : he knew it not at this time, when he woke there would be a wood block on his night stand when he eventually awoke. This, what he could do, that was a worthy reason of waking each morning, something one could find pride and perhaps even contentment in doing so. She smiled gently when he spoke of the name the elvish kin had given him, this fitting<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : no doubt.- “I have had many names in my life, so many I have forgotten more then I remember. Iolana, it was given to me by the elvish, yet it has no translation. They said that this was fitting for me and indicated that at a point unknown in my life I would find its meaning. It became the one in which I most identified with, my culture does<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : not…they do not hold the same sacredness for naming as most other societies do and so it is as fluid as our lives coming and going. I am not sure I have ever agreed with that sentiment, but it is difficult for me to say with certainty.”- It was perhaps strange that she wouldn’t certain of her own feelings on such a matter, but such was the nature <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : of an illithuana as she. Her attention shifted to the door as Vincent entered and took up a seat, like an elephant in a china shop he’d lumbered to the safety of an unoccupied table- “Now that is interesting”- she stated seemingly her curiosity peaked yet she did not move for the moment. Content to observe what might happen next.-“If you would<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : like work that is less…mundane. The restorers I am currently employing are sub par to the task, the carvings in the wood are intricate and reminiscent of fae and elvish influence. It is not their fault, they simply have little experience with it and a contractor from harmony will not be available for some months. You could stay in the spare room<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : while you worked if you liked…all your choice of course”- she rolled her shoulders into a mild shrug glancing at him a moment before looking back to Vincent.-

¤Vincent¤ : He looked up as a server approached the table, and spoke in a quiet voice that had a bit of a purr to it, as he carefully enunciated the words..."I need a pint of your strongest liquor, a towel, and a mug of tea, please." He opened the purse and spilled out what few crowns he possessed pushing them toward the server. The effort it took, not to growl at the girl was evident in the way his head lowered as she went off with a somewhat confused expression. He closed his eyes as he sought to focus on -c-
¤Vincent¤ : something other than the ache in his side and back, but each breath brought its own reminder. He slipped the clasp of the cloak and let it slip from his shoulders, before he delicately explored his side with his fingertips. The rough linen shirt was rather a mess with the spreading blood stain, it was the cleanest thing he owned, but his pants were of a similar coarse cloth made sturdy, and well fitted, but lacking any decoration other than the odd stain or two that washing had not removed completely. -c-
¤Vincent¤ : He winced as he explored the wound with the tip of a claw, fishing out a bit of sodden fabric that he placed on the table with a hand that trembled slightly. It hurt, but it was necessary to ensure the wound was clean, and he doubted he would be able to do it after what he planned next. When the server returned, he thanked her politely and took a sip from the mug of tea which he laced with half of the whiskey, steeling himself for the next necessary step. -d-

Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : The Tea, he could tell was weaker then the liquor she'd been serving him the past few nights, and while the stuff did the trick it didn't provide for any lack of mindfulness which was the sole reason he drank as he did. he finished the glass regardless and, listened. Her proposition was a sound one, or so he thought at the time. It could easily have been taken as a way to repay her for all the meals. But he considered it honestly. Was he really ready to commit to any sort of craft similar or far from -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : his own? drawing his hand into the length of his hair he absently gathered the half consumed bottle of whiskey " I'll think on it " he said absently as he stood " I'm going to rest now Iolana, i've a busy day tomorrow " large shipments and the likes coming through. Even drunkards could work heavily if given enough reason too. For him it was justification for the liquor, work hard drink hard. Easier then attempting to inform people he drank because he had memories he desperately wanted to forget. " Good -c-
Łаяќ Đаwиѕоиg : Evening " he said with some warmth filtering into his voice. Standing and leaving his table he'd proceed to one of the many inns in the Red District. Where he procured a room with no company and made his way in for the night to finish his bottle and slumber -

ǀσℓαηαƲαня : No rush…”she said simply and let him go his own way with that. He hadn’t said no and that was a step in the right direction she expected. At least he hadn’t shut her down immediately and if she had assessed him right, that small spark in him wouldn’t permit him to refuse in the end. Her finger plucking the fox up and turning it slowly over in her <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : hands. It was a magnificent piece of work and spoke of the skill the man had. Nothing less then perfection, that was a sentiment to which she could relate. Normally she would have slid out the back and stalked along the rooftops following the man to make sure he got to wherever he was going, but he wasn’t quite as inebriated as he had been in <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : times best and she felt confident he’d make his destination. She’d find him later to make sure and to drop off that block of wood. She sipped at her tea and ate the food, though she had no real appetite. Her attention was on the man who now seemed to be tending something. A wound? A frown glimmered across her lips and she supposed she had some<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : duty of care to look into it…being a knight of gaerdon and all. She rose up from the chair taking a last drought from her tea cup and walked towards the table of Vincent. If his appearance upon closer inspection unnerved her it did not show.- “You know we have hospitals and doctors for that sort of things.”- said as her eyes glanced down to where<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : he was bleeding.-end-

¤Vincent¤ : His head turned toward the woman as she approached, his posture shifting slightly into an instinctive guard, but he did listen to her, refraining from growling, well for the most part. "I've been seen by doctors before...they wanted to see what made me different, it did not end well..." He said in a voice that was wary, but was more in control..."You can I think, understand my reluctance?" He inquired as he began to unbutton the shirt. It seemed he was covered completely by a short dense pelt of -c-
¤Vincent¤ : tawny fur, at least down past his chest, and the shortened feline features added to the bestial appearance. But those tawny gold eyes were no those of a beast, there was intelligence and feeling there, fear, wariness, and no small amount of confusion...If She had been here...but she could not be, he had to face this on his own... He closed his eyes and drew a slow steadying breath ignoring the pain in his side as he remembered her, her white hair spilling over the pillow, her thin withered frame lost -c-
¤Vincent¤ : amid the bedding of her death bed. 'Be strong, follow your heart...my dear Vincent...follow your heart...' Those had been her final words...The words of a woman, who had taken in a beast and made him into a man. When he opened his eyes, there was much less fear in them, as he said quietly, "I apologize, It has been a trying journey...I am not accustomed, to...being well treated...yet." He added the last with the hint of a wry smile. -d-

ǀσℓαηαƲαня : -She tilted her head slightly to the right in quiet contemplation of his response as she considered where he might have encountered that sort the recognition flared in her eyes.-“Ah, must have been in one of the outlying cities or in the roughs…only about half of the self proclaimed doctors out there are registered and legitimate. I<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : have spent the last few years out there doing what I can, but until the emperor decides to provide real support it will remain so I fear…too much ground to cover and not enough structure to enforce anything. It is a wonder that it is as civilized as it is considering. Still, I am sorry for anything you’ve been subjected to. If you know their<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : names, I will dispatch a team to sort them. It is the least a knight of gaerdon might do, iolana by name.”-she offered letting her gaze now narrow in on the affliction he possessed.-“If you are disinclined to proper care…I have some training in field medicine and could assist as best I can if you would like.”-she offered politely. Her skill in<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : healing was basic at best, but she could manage something of this nature and up to something slightly more serious, but much beyond that and it would be beyond her skills. She did not move to act unless he granted permission aware by the skittish nature and the fear she had seen that doing so would be unwise.-“You are in a more civilized place,<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : but not all can be trusted even here...there are those in this world that will always seek to harm or control or unethically study that which they do not understand. It is the nature of most creatures I have found and while such does not justify their actions, it is so in every race I have crossed thus far."-end-

¤Vincent¤ : He ventured another smile..."This was not caused by a person...but by an encounter with some terribly noisy contraption that looked like a runaway carriage that had forgotten its horse..." He offered by way of explanation as he considered what she had said, "Please...It is rather difficult to reach..." He said as he removed the shirt his expression tightening as the wound and bruised muscles pulled. The wound, was just below the ribs and toward the back on his right side. "I'm not sure what caused -c-
¤Vincent¤ : it, I was focused more on the child...I think she was alright...I was stunned by the impact." He rested his elbows on the table as he remembered what he could of the incident puzzlement touching his features as he took the shirt and dug into the breast pocket, extracting a small simple rag doll...It smelled of the child and her mother...but why would the child...he sighed quietly as he laid the doll aside, baffled by the simple gift. -d-

ǀσℓαηαƲαня : “I meant…those that you encountered before.”- She would hunt them down and then set Quintus upon them. Given the choice between her and quin one should always pray for her. She would deliver them for a trial, quin would just put a sword through their heart and call it a day. It’s why they made a good working match, one supplied the skills the <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : the other might lack. Quin lacked subtlety and she lacked a killers instinct. They could get most tasks done for the knights that needed to be completed. She stopped a passing bar maid and requested the first aid kit from the second floor and a bottle of vodka. She then pulled a chair around and made a short examination of the wound.- “I do not <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : have a deft hand so I apologize in advance.”-with the girl returned she used one of the towels she had brought and laid it against his flesh pouring the alcohol over the wound, checking carefully to ensue all pieces of wood were gone. If he managed not to scream, she’d be impressed. Of course if anyone paid them mind it was briefly. By now<
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : most those that came here knew who she was and to what house she belonged. Finished she would open the kit and pull out stitching thread and needle and begin work on pulling the skin back together. It took nearly a half hour for her to finish, the bandages set about him would likely be a pain given the fur, but it was better then bleeding on his <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : clothes. She was frowning slightly, but nodded no less-"That will have to do...despite your reservations I would recommend you visit the Eonir, they have far more skill in this then I and the house itself can be trusted in so far as they can, particularly if they know that I know you've gone there."-she offered him a measure of security in that, <
ǀσℓαηαƲαня : but it was the best she could do. She wrapped up the needle into the clothes and cleaned up the area around them, the bar maids would see to the rest later.- end-

¤Vincent¤ : "Tarry Knott's travelling freak show...but for two of their number...you best bring a shovel, as I made a bit of a mess in getting free..." He said the sentence cut off as the alcohol hit the wound. It was not a scream that came forth but a rather forceful growl that issued through clamped jaws, as his claws extended biting into the surface of the table. The short fur did not conceal the scars of the lash that crossed his back and wrapped around to his side. As the pain receded he drew a deep breath. -c-
¤Vincent¤ : "The Eonir...I will go...Thank you..." He said in a hoarse voice, trailing off as he looked down at the table at the grooves left by his claws. He looked back to her..."I am called Vincent..." He said quietly as his fingers came to rest on the rag doll once more...why...perhaps he would understand in time. -d-